Five Ways to Fall (Ten Tiny Breaths, #4)(11)

I hope he’s too drunk to notice.

A frown mars Ben’s forehead as he peers down at my face. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

“Because your eyes just crossed. That’s usually not a good sign.” The crease deepens. “Are you sure you haven’t had too much to drink? Because I don’t like to—”

I answer by grabbing the front of that red shirt and yanking him down into my mouth for what I hope is not a sloppy-drunk-girl kiss. But probably is. That seems to be all he needs, because his arms snake around my body to crush me against him. It may just be the alcohol but, damn, does this obnoxious bouncer have some skill. I hadn’t expected it. In truth, I thought he’d be the “no kissing on the lips” kind of guy. Now, though, I find myself mesmerized by him, letting my hands crawl all over his chest, ready to find out exactly how skilled he is.

If only this spinning would stop.

And this uncomfortable feeling in the pit of my stomach . . .

Oh . . . no.

Call it gut instinct, an ounce of good luck buried within a pit of bad, I don’t know . . . but I intuitively peel myself away from Ben’s lips a second before a night’s worth of margaritas rushes up my throat and shoots out of my mouth.

All over the front of Ben’s red shirt.

Oh my God.

Did that just happen?

I’m temporarily frozen, staring at the streaks of green-tinged sludge all over his body.

“Oh, man . . .” Ben groans, the disgust plain in his tone.

Yes, that just happened.

I don’t even have to look at Ben’s face to know that all thoughts of getting laid have vanished from his mind. They’ve certainly abandoned mine, leaving me doused in an icky coat of mortification. That alone has my stomach churning more. I sense an encore performance coming. The hell if I’m puking anywhere in front of or on him again! Clamping two hands over my mouth, I turn and make a run for the bathroom. Unfortunately, something jumps out and trips me and a second later I find myself sprawled across the floor, the cool tile chilling my completely naked body, a dull pain beginning to ache in my toe.

“Shit, are you okay?” I hear from behind me.

I’m going to puke. I’m going to puke doing a facedown starfish if I don’t get up right now. The bathroom is no more than six feet away and I know I’m not going to make it all the way back to my feet. So I do the next best thing.

Scrambling to my hands and knees, I crawl toward the bathroom.

The bellow of laughter from behind me—oh God, the view he must have of me right now! I didn’t think this through!—only makes me pick up speed, until I’m crossing the threshold, slamming the door, and flipping the lock. I lunge for the toilet just as another wave of green shoots out, filling the bowl.

When I’ve purged my stomach of its toxic contents, all I can do is lean my forehead against the toilet seat and relish the cool porcelain as my rib cage throbs and my body breaks out in a sweat.

A soft knock sounds on the door. “You okay in there?”

I don’t answer. I can’t answer.

Why! Why did this happen to me? I’m not a puker! Lina is the puker!

“You know, if you hated the shirt that much, you could have just asked me to take it off. I was about to anyway.” I don’t know how he could possibly be making jokes about this. He’s the one covered in vomit. Just the thought has me shuddering. “Look . . . Some chick just puked on me and I really could use a shower. Can I come in?” The door handle jiggles and I thank baby Jesus for having given me the good sense to lock it. The last thing I want is to have him come in here and see my naked body hunched over his toilet. I need to get my clothes and get out of here without facing him. Ever again.

“You’re alive, right?” There’s finally a hint of worry in his tone. “I don’t have to bust down this door?”

That’s the last thing you have to do. “I’m good.” I pull myself up to the sink to splash my face with some cool, fresh water. Reaching for his mouthwash, I dump a mouthful in and begin gargling.

“Come on, Jill. We’ve all been there. I’m sorry I laughed.”

I’ve never been so happy that I used a fake name. The story will go down in history as a puking purple-haired girl named Jill who crawled to his bathroom, her naked fat ass wiggling the entire way. I’m fine with that.

There’s a long pause and then I hear his heavy sigh. “I’m leaving some bottled water next to the door for you. Don’t drink the tap water or you’ll be spending the rest of your vacation in the bathroom.” His footsteps move away just as another wave of nausea hits me, courtesy of my minty-fresh breath.

I dive for the toilet again.





Chapter 4




BEN





Two months later

“Not an ocean view, but it’s all yours,” Jack Warner offers, leading me into a tiny, empty office the size of a closet, with a window overlooking the small parking lot.

“Ocean views are overrated,” I throw back with a grin.

That earns a chuckle as my new boss slaps a strong hand over my shoulder. “Glad to have you joining us, Ben. My son credits you as the reason he graduated law school with such high grades.”

“Your son’s a smart guy, Mr. Warner.”